


A Room on the Park and a View and You

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Porn Battle, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan runs too fast and flies too high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room on the Park and a View and You

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2008, for oxoniensis's Porn Battle - although there is, I'm afraid, a notable lack of porn of any description. Prompt: _Dan/Casey, sofa_.

When Casey gets back he finds Danny asleep on the couch in their office, although 'asleep' doesn't really cover it: he's crashed out, unconscious, dead to the world. It's not normal for a young, healthy man to need to nap in the middle of the day, and it might be a cause for concern, but Casey's seen this before, many times, from Dan's college days on through all the years they've known one another, and he knows what it means. Like Icarus, Dan is given to flying too high, too close to the sun, and with the same fatal results. In Dan's case it's simply overwork; sometimes he'll let his mind go racing so far ahead of itself that his body can't catch up, until finally it collapses in protest and he drops like a stone where he stands. He'll wake by himself when he's ready; they'll just have to give him time.

It won't be tonight, from the look of things. Casey crosses over to the corner shelves, rummages about till he finds the ratty old afghan they stowed there one time when the heating broke down for three bitter January days, opens it out, and turns to spread it over Danny, keep him warm. Then he stops still for a moment. All he can see from this angle is Danny's ass, a temptingly curved mound defined by taut denim. It's a rare sight. Not that Dan is modest, or body-conscious – he'll cheerfully strip naked in a steam room or a public shower without a second thought – but he dresses for comfort; his jeans fit well, but comfortably, always with a certain amount of give to them, and then there are those oversized shirts, the baggy sweaters that Danny wears over them, almost as though he were deliberately hiding what lies within.

He has nothing to hide. Casey knows that, too. He's shared those changing rooms, those saunas, those showers; he knows all there is to know of toned muscles and flat stomach, of clearly-defined biceps and pectorals, of the sharp jut of collarbone, of the snaking ridge of spine that flows to a smooth swell behind and the dark line of hair that arrows downward from chest to belly to groin, to secret, forbidden places that Casey will never admit haunt his dreams.

Casey pulls his thoughts back to the here and now, drapes the blanket over Dan's shoulders and tucks it around his feet, punches the couch pillows into shape and slides them beneath Dan's neck. Throughout it all Dan never stirs, barely seems to breathe, and Casey can't help but lay a hand across his heart to feel its pulse – just for his own peace of mind; just to feel warmth and breath and life.

He should have been here. Anybody could have taken the flight down south, recorded the segments, brought them back and spliced them together; he could've done the VO from the studio and never left town. Nobody else would recognise the symptoms, but Casey always knows when Dan's engine runs too fast, and only Casey knows how to pull him back, to slow him down, to stop him before he burns and crashes.

And, if that fails, when Dan falls, Casey should be there to catch him. Same as always.

He should never have gone away.

He reaches to touch Dan's hair – just because; it's too short to fall into Dan's eyes – then turns aside. He'll call Dana, he'll tell her to get a substitute anchor for tonight, and then he'll sit at his desk and write. And, while he writes, he'll watch.

***


End file.
